


Before the Mask: The Return of Leslie Vernon

by MissWhip



Category: Behind the Mask: The Rise of Leslie Vernon (2006)
Genre: F/M, Friday the 13th - Freeform, Halloween, Horror, Nightmare On Elm Street - Freeform, Prequel, Psychological Horror, Remake, Sequel, Serial Killer, Survival Horror, Survivor Guilt, spreequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-03-26 07:24:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3842170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissWhip/pseuds/MissWhip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a fan exploration of what a sequel might look like based on interviews, released documents, etc. A new film crew is attempting to make a documentary about the Leslie Vernon murders that happened years ago. Determined to stay away, the survivors of the last attack only want to get on with their lives - until something unexpected draws them all back to Glen Echo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Before the Mask: The Return of Leslie Vernon

Rating: M – Horror movie violence, language

Summary / Notes: Okay, so, I am a hardcore Vernonite, and while I will ever hope for a sequel, I’m kind of at the point where I think we’re beyond reasonable hope. *sadness*  
So, what I wanted to do was to try to write what I thought the sequel might look like, and I’m probably totally off, but my last fanfic was just OTP stuff, smut, and violence anyway. 

There are two sources of reference materials for the sequel, the interview with Robert Englund where he discussed the plot, and the released script pages. The script pages appear to be more interview sessions between Taylor, Leslie, Doug, and Doc Halloran, and in Englund’s interview, he said the plot was that they were making a documentary of the murders on the site of the Vernon farmhouse.

Several key points mentioned over the course of kickstarter included making the point about the deaths of certain characters being offscreen, and that this was a spreemake, a sort of prequel sequel exploring events before and during the original film in the context of actually happening after the original took place.

Of course, any or all of these could be misleads on behalf of those involved to cover up actual plot points, so who knows?

If you’re a fan, you know all this, but this is mostly for those who are more casual fans of the film who maybe weren’t in on all the stuff that happened during the kickstarter.  
So I included this just to explain what I’m trying to do, and I’m probably way off, but I’m hoping to have some fun.

Thanks – Chapter 1 is coming soon.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1: 

Taylor tapped her fingers on the table absentmindedly. She couldn’t focus on the room in front of her, the people, and the cameras, none of it. 

At some point, her tapping must have gotten either too loud or too incessant, and her lawyer reached over, placed his hand on hers, and pressed it down to the table. Her concentration broken, she looked over to him and he shook his head at her. 

Biting her lower lip, she turned in her chair, looking behind her to where Doug sat in the first row. His trial had been over last week. Full acquittal, jury had come back in less than an hour.

Her lawyer had been trying to prepare her for the fact that she might not be so lucky, but every time she looked at Doug, she felt at least a morsel of hopefulness that his freedom might means hers too.

Offering his hand over the railing, she took it, stealing a look back at the judge to make sure she wouldn’t admonish her for such an act. 

All they had to do was play it safe. Keep quiet, emphasize their complete cluelessness, and throw all the blame on the actual killer. 

Or as Taylor kept hearing in her head, “Play the nice naïve survivor girl and you might survive this encounter too.”

Luckily for her, her school had permitted her graduate adviser to come and testify on her behalf. Thankfully, the adviser had made a pretty strong case for Taylor; after she had been pulled aside by the lawyer and given strict instructions on exactly how to present her student and her student’s motives. 

She had, after all, signed off on the project herself, complete with a nice warning in writing on the thesis page – warning Taylor that dealing with delusional persons could be dangerous. 

They had all shown over and over again that Taylor had gone into this project fully believing that Leslie Vernon was another delusional individual – an art piece at the most sophisticated, a loon at the worst.

When the door to the jury room opened, she felt Doug squeeze her hand before letting go. She would have wanted him to hold her hand throughout the entire proceedings, but that simply wasn’t permitted.

From behind her, she could hear the various clicks of the cameras as the jury members filed in, one by one. She fought the desire to close her eyes and remembered what her lawyer had told her – to put on her best innocent face and don’t bother trying to read the faces of the jury. It would only make the next few minutes absolutely agonizing.

The courtroom fell silent. 

The judge, a rather severe looking woman who had a remarkably reserved demeanor, turned to them, “Has the jury reached a verdict?”

Getting back to his feet, the Foreman nodded, “We have, your honor.” He passed along a folded sheet of paper to the bailiff, who presented it to the judge.

She took a look before refolding it, and handing it back, “Before this verdict is read, I wish to restate my directions that I will have order in this court. I will not be afraid to hold anyone in contempt.” Turning towards the jury again, she nodded, “The foreman will now read the verdict.”

Unfolding the paper in his hands, he cleared his throat, “On the first charge, conspiracy to commit murder, we the jury find the defendant – not guilty.”

Taylor could feel herself relax slightly, but the silence in the courtroom was telling. No one had been hanging on that charge, it has been tacked on by the prosecutor to make sure there was a trial. In the back of her mind, she could hear her lawyer whispering to her that they wouldn’t have gotten her on that anyway.

“On the second charge, accessory to murder, we the jury, find the defendant – guilty.”

Her knees went weak and she felt as though she were about to collapse. Grabbing on to the table to steady herself, she let her head fall forward, unsure if she was about to cry and not wanting anyone to see if she did.

The lawyer pressed his hand into the small of her back, trying to straighten her up, and she timidly raised her head. 

“Ms. Gentry, you have heard and understand the verdict?”

“Yes, your honor.”

“Do you have anything to say before I sentence you?”

“I – “ She paused. From somewhere in the gallery, she heard people whispering excitedly, happily. The parents of the teens were all there, and she had to assume it was them. If they couldn’t get their blood from Leslie himself, they were going to get it from her, guilt or not. 

“Yes, your honor, I do.” 

Her lawyer looked over at her as if to say, ‘You better make this good.’

“You may proceed.” The judge sat back in her chair, her eyes trained on Taylor’s face like a hawk.

“I understand why you found me guilty of accessory, I do, but I don’t agree with it.” She paused, “I don’t know how many more times I can apologize for something I didn’t do. I swear, I thought it was all an act, I didn’t think it would actually happen. I would never have put Todd in that danger, or those kids.” Taylor finally let go of the table, “I would never have put myself in that situation if I had known. You have to believe me!”

The judge’s expression didn’t change.

Taylor turned around. Every time she saw the faces of the parents, it was like seeing them for the first time. Her mind refused to let them stick in her memory and she pleaded with them, “I am so sorry. I tried to stop it.” Her voice was so little, so small and broken. 

With nothing else to say that she hadn’t already stated on the stand, she turned back to the judge and nodded.

“Ms. Gentry, the charge of accessory to murder is usually reserved for those with whom we associate a malicious intent. Up until the death of Mrs. Collingwood, I think we can firmly state that you do not legally qualify for the crime of accessory, however,” The judge leaned forward, “You did have ample time after that event to contact the police or to extract yourself from the situation and alert someone. Anyone.”

Nodding, Taylor looked down at the table.

“While you did not assist the killer in this case, you did not prevent his work – although I am to believe, given Doctor Halloran’s testimony, that you may not have been able to prevent this. We have it recorded and testified to that you did attempt to stop the killing spree and put yourself in danger to do so. These to me, do not sound like the acts of someone who was determined to remain objective, or who was, at least, a willing accessory.”

Once again, she felt the lawyer’s hand on her back, willing her to look up. 

“I do not believe in forcing people to atone for the crimes of others. I don’t believe you were malicious and I do believe you learned your lesson, at a very great price – though perhaps not as personal of a lesson as many believe you deserve.” 

She knew the judge was directing that to the parents. 

“Therefore, I am not going to participate in victimizing one of the victims, because that is what you are. When and if Mr. Vernon is caught, then we will try him, but not today. Ms. Gentry, I am sentencing you to a period of probation and community service to last three years.”

Taylor clamped both of her hands to her mouth to hold back her cry of happiness. Her lawyer wrapped his arm around her shoulder to steady her, whispering his congratulations.

“During this period, you will be expected to make and keep appointments with a therapist, to assist in any of the criminal investigations regarding this incident without question, and to regularly speak about your experience to various groups in an effort to deter future murders, with those to be determined later by your probation officer. This is the sentence of the court, and in the matter of the state versus Taylor Gentry, I find this matter to be closed.”

She rapped the gavel and got up, when there was a sudden commotion from the crowd.

“Your honor!”

Taylor’s head snapped around to see the figure of Doc Halloran come up the aisle. 

“Doctor Halloran, this matter has been resolved.”

“Your honor, please. You can’t make Taylor go out and talk about this case.”

The expression on the judge’s face went back to one of a distinct coldness, “I can and I have.” 

“No, your honor, you don’t understand. He needs people to talk about him!” 

“What?”

Halloran got too close to the front of the court, and the bailiff and another sheriff stood and got in front of him. He tried to press past them, but they grabbed his arms. The judge, looking at this attitude, stepped back from the bench. She made a quick judgement to vacate the room, lest Halloran become violent.

“Please, you need to listen to me!”

“C’mon Doc, let’s go.” The bailiff began to physically push him back, and Halloran shoved back, though he was no match for the younger man, already larger than himself.

“Get him out of here.” The judge’s final words echoed around the courtroom before she stepped into her chambers. 

“The more you talk about him, the more it feeds him! He needs an audience!” Halloran looked almost crazed as the guards pulled him from the courthouse. Taylor, still on her feet, was staring after him, half grateful that he had waited until her sentence was passed to have his outburst, and half devastated for him.

Doug turned to look at Taylor and then back at Halloran, “What the hell?”

“I don’t know.” She whispered. 

After a few moments, the yelling had died down in the hall and everyone back inside the courtroom glanced awkwardly from one person to another. The bailiffs returned and escorted Taylor from the courtroom, with the prosecution following behind her.

As she walked out, she could hear the hisses of the parents following her. 

“That was the scene in the Glen Echo Courtroom five years ago today when both Doug Best and Taylor Gentry were acquitted of their roles in what has been called the Glen Echo Massacre. Now the town is confronting the specter of the Leslie Vernon killing spree again as Hollywood comes to town, looking to turn the incident into a major motion picture. Some in the town are claiming that five years is still “too soon” while others are wondering if any of the film profit’s will be going to help the still grieving families. While many of the people involved in the original case have already signed off on the project, there’s still been no sign of them in town, despite rumors that they are secretly involved in the project. As many here will remember, the three key principle players, left town shortly after the trial, with all three of them relocating to the West Coast.”

The tv reporter’s broadcast cut to a pre-recorded segment. A local man that Taylor had never seen before stood in front of the camera, microphone just under his chin, “To be honest, I’m hoping they don’t come back here. I don’t like the movie idea very much, but I’d be worried that Leslie Vernon would come back to kill them. We haven’t seen him in five years and we want it to stay that way.”

Taylor picked up the remote and turned off the television. Sitting at her kitchen counter, she stared at the laptop in front of her. The sun coming across the bay filtered in through her window. This morning’s news had been an unpleasant coincidence with her morning emails.

Her inbox was flooded with requests for interviews, comments, and demands to know if she was involved with the new film project. She hadn’t had so much email since her probation had ended two years ago and she’d refused to come forward, preferring to bury herself in her work and keep her head down.

Then, some ambitious Hollywood documentary maker had decided that five years was enough time, and an email from him was currently at the very top of her “priority read” list.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

“Just promise me you won’t go.”

“I already told you, I’m not going to.”

“Alright, I’m just worried that you’ll end up drawing him back out.”

“Trust me Doc, he’s the last person I want to see.” Taylor sighed, tucking the phone between her chin and shoulder as she typed up an email. It was a function of her age that she still did not engage in the use of the speaker phone, “I’m more worried about you.”

“Me?” The doctor’s voice was gruff and disbelieving.

“You’re the ahab, you’re the guy who wants to fight him.” Now she was the one who sounded shocked.

“Only if he comes back, I’m a little old to be chasing him around the East Coast.” He muttered something under his breath and she caught the word “Doug.” 

“What about Doug?”

“He said the same thing.” 

“That he was more worried about you?” Taylor sighed.

“Yes.” Halloran sounded indignant, “When after all, it wasn’t my fault that this whole thing happened in the first place.”

“Are you saying this was my fault?”

“No,” Halloran coughed, “I wasn’t trying to say that. I’m sorry.”

Taylor paused. It seemed fairly disingenuous and it probably was. In the lead up to the trial, they had worked out a lot of their issues between the three of them, even developed a light friendship –forged in the depths of their experience. There was still though, a bit of distrust between Doug and Taylor, against Halloran. She firmly believed that Halloran somehow still blamed her, above even Doug, for what happened. For not revealing where Leslie was to him before the incident, and for, perhaps what he believed to be – egging Leslie on. 

He hadn’t held it against her where it mattered though, he hadn’t testified against her and sent her to jail for punishment. She would always be grateful for that, but could she really trust him? Something told her that if it came down to it, if she had to die to somehow also end Leslie’s killing spree – he wouldn’t think twice about pulling the trigger.

Of course, if Leslie was right, if Halloran was the embodiment of all the good in the world, then perhaps he would never turn on her. She had to entertain the possibility that Leslie could be lying too, but – 

Taylor stopped herself, it wouldn’t do her any good to dwell on all the various twists and turns, “You already spoke to Doug?”

“I called him earlier today. I asked him to call you, but he said you should hear it from me.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you avoiding him?”

“Sort of,” She paused, wondering how much she should tell him, “He’s been calling me, since the whole thing about the documentary came up and I kind of told him to back off.”

“He might have mentioned that.”

“I think he still…” But she trailed off, staring absentmindedly at her screen.

“It’s only natural that he would want to still talk with you. You both shared a unique experience.” His professional side was kicking in.

“I don’t think he wants to talk.”

Back at his office, Halloran furrowed his brow, “Wants to what?”

“I think he wants to go out with me.”

Halloran wasn’t sure. Doug had mentioned feeling the need to talk to Taylor several times, to converse with someone who had been through the same thing, in at least a therapeutic manner.

“And have you been honest with him that you don’t want to go out with him?”

“Well he’s never really asked. He just tells me sometimes that the dating scene isn’t very good for survivors of serial killer massacres.”

“I suspect you already know that.” Halloran chuckled.

“Not really, I haven’t tried to date at all.”

Now he was taken aback, “It’s been five years, and you haven’t been on one date?” Secretly, inside his own head, he had to admit that even he’d had time to take out a local therapist from the office down the hall. They’d enjoyed picking each other’s brains enough for several dates.

“I don’t want to.” She was fairly quiet, willing him to stop this line of conversation. Things had been tense between her and the two men since one interviewer during her trial had made some comments about Taylor and Leslie in his blog. Both of them had the decency to not discuss it at length with her, but it hadn’t helped that both of them had happened upon her, sitting in her hotel room, reading it only seconds after it had gone up. Stuck somewhere between wondering if she was the only one not in on the joke or if it was going to be used against her in the court of public opinion, she had refused to discuss it with them in manner that left both of them questioning exactly what was going on in her head.

Graciously sidestepping the issue, Halloran sighed, “Well, perhaps Doug wants to go out with you because you’ll understand him.”

“That seems like a nice way of saying that I’m the only option he has.”

He had to concede that was about right. There was an awkward silence for a few minutes while they tried to parse out a few things. Taylor’s phone suddenly buzzed and she looked down at it. 

“Hey Doc, I have to go. That director is calling again.” 

“Just remember, don’t go.”

“I don’t think that would fall under things I would ever forget.” 

“Goodbye Taylor.”

“Bye.” She clicked over to the next phone call, “Hello.”

“Hello Taylor? It’s Mark Gregorio.” 

“I know.”

“Aww, you don’t sound happy to hear from me. I was hoping you’d reconsidered my offer.”

“No, I haven’t. You’re not going to badger me into it either.”

“I’m not trying to badger you, I’m trying to make sure you know the offer is still on the table.”

“I told you, I will consult, but as for being on set, I just can’t do it.”

He seemed to sigh, “Well, alright. I’ll increase the offer if you change your mind. Filming starts tomorrow.”

“How do you like Glen Echo?”

“Nice little town. Very creepy this time of year, really appropriate.” She could almost hear the childish glee in his voice. For a moment, Taylor was taken back to when she had arrived in that small town, anticipating a project that would change her life. Clearly, Gregorio was looking to make a name for himself, maybe secure a nice spot with the HBO Documentaries circuit. 

“Alright, well, you can get me on skype if you need anything.”

He seemed to accept that, “Taylor, do you mind if I ask you something?”

“I have a feeling you’re going to anyway.”

“I’ve hired on security for the filming, quite a bit of security actually.”

She knew what he was asking, “If he wants to come after you, it won’t matter.”

“No?”

“It’s like they said in the documentary, just keep running until the sun comes up and don’t look back.”

“I’ll tell them that then. Bye.”

“Bye.” She hung up. Part of her was surprised that it had taken him this long to brooch that subject with her. Maybe she had just been misreading him and his level of enthusiasm, maybe he wasn’t the completely eyes wide shut idiot running headfirst into a dangerous scenario. She’d already run that course first, and every part of her rational mind was screaming at her to go and stop this production before anything could have the idea of happening.

88888888888888888888888

“Would you do me a favor?” Mark turned around in his chair. 

Trish stood there, notepad in hand, at the ready, “That’s what I’m here for.”

“Will you take these updated pictures down to Sarah? I tried to send her them over my phone and she said the pictures weren’t clear enough.”

Taking them from him, she quickly glanced over the images. They had a Sarah in sets, and a Sarah in costumes, and Mark never clarified which Sarah he wanted. This one was for sets, sets that he would be meeting with later, but why go himself when he could send his personal assistant?

“Alright. Do you need me back here for the meeting later or am I being released on my own recognizance?”

To his credit, he laughed at her little joke, “If you wouldn’t mind taking notes, I could use you at the meeting later. I need written proof of what I’ve told these people.” 

She nodded, “Sure.” She was getting paid by the hour anyway.

As she left the trailer where Mark was working, she crossed the lawn. There were times she missed working on an indoor lot, and now was one of them. Shooting so close to that farmhouse was just eerie to her. How they’d managed to get permission, she’d never know.

Part of their project was reconstructing the cider house that burned down, and in the interest of getting to burn it down all over again, they’d decided to rebuild the entire thing. As she approached, she glanced from the photos to the construction. Now she recognized the shots, they were from the original video, to help with detailing the outside. 

“Sarah!” She called out. She was on a bit more personal terms with the set designer, the woman being the extreme version of DIY and “hands-on.”

There was no reply and she grumbled to herself. She didn’t really want to go inside if she could manage, but she had to get back. Pushing open the door, she noticed that the lights were still on, “Hey Sarah, I have these photos you wanted.”

The set was designed almost entirely like the original, with maybe a few more openings in the walls for better camera angles. Looking around the room, she pursed her lips when she didn’t see Sarah anywhere, “Damnit.”

Pulling back, she looked to the left and the right, to see if she could be somewhere outside. 

She turned to leave, but just as she was about to go, she felt the need to have one last look around. Taking a step inside the shed, she looked all the way over the very corners and saw something.

“Sarah?” Running over, she realized the set designer was crumpled up on the floor. Blood surrounded her head. 

Her hands trembling, she turned Sarah over onto her back, “Sarah?” When there was no response, she reached down and grabbed her wrist. Trish had never checked for a pulse in her life, but she was fairly certain that she wasn’t feeling anything.

“Oh shit.” Looking around, she noticed a can of paint on the ground, opened and spilling out. The bottom corner was dented, with flecks of red and what looked like bits of skin. Her eyes turned upward and she noticed the shelf, with other cans still on it.

Getting to her feet, she ran out of the shed and back toward’s Mark’s trailer, screaming for help.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 3:

“Ms. Gentry, do you think the production is cursed?”

Taylor was taken aback, “I’m sorry?”

The interviewer restated the question, and she thought a moment, “Well, no – “

“It’s only the first day of filming and already there’s been a report of a death on set?”

“Usually in these kinds of productions, you need to have multiple deaths before they start calling it a curse.” She sat down in her living room chair. The television in front of her was muted as she watched her phone interview in live time.

“So you believe there will be more deaths?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Is this why you and the others refused to be on-set during production?”

Taylor looked down at the broadcast logo, “Am I being interview by CNN or TMZ?”

The interviewer got a sour look on her face and she seemed to shift through her notes, “Ms. Gentry, here at CNN we pride ourselves on our journalistic integrity. I’m merely attempting to ask if you stayed away from the production because you fear that Leslie Vernon will return.”

“If you mean that you think that he’ll attack and I don’t want to be there, no. I’m more concerned that my presence would draw him to the set and it would put others in danger.”

The anchor nodded, faking concern, “Do you feel threatened right now?”

“No. The combination of myself and the location might be another matter though.”

The screen in front of her suddenly downsized as her picture went side by side with a live picture of the director.

“Now, live from Glen Echo, Maryland, we have the director of the new documentary, Mark Gregorio. Mark, can you hear me?”

“Yes, hello!”

Taylor had to stop herself from sighing. Mark wasn’t exactly a publicity hound, but he would never pass up a chance for some press. In this particular case, any press was good press, and for a documentary based on murders, a death on set was a perfect opportunity to talk up the film.

“Alright, Mark, same question. Do you think this film project is cursed?”

Mark laughed, “No. What we had yesterday, according to the police, looks like a very unfortunate accident. Our set designer appears to have been underneath a shelf when a very heavy can of paint fell off, and of course, our condolences go out to her family, her death has absolutely shocked us here on set and it will be very hard going forward.”

Taylor looked out her window. She’d already heard what had happened, and granted the explanation seemed plausible. Her experience though, was that little voice in the back of her mind telling her to beware. It was just a little too coincidental that this happened, right at this particular time, in this place. She wasn’t a medical expert, but her fingers itched for someone to call, to see if it was even possible for that can of paint to have done that much damage. 

“So you’re planning on keeping the filming schedule?”

“Yes, unfortunately, we only have the location for so long and we can’t really afford to lose any time.” 

For about the third time in this interview, she was glad that she wasn’t on camera. She could roll her eyes and scoff all without anyone seeing.

“Do you have any plans to avoid these kinds of accidents in the future?”

“We have security in place, and EMTs on standby, hopefully this was a one-time incident. It was an accident, not the result of poor planning or carelessness.”

Now it was time for her fourth eye-roll of the night. She had the excuse of poor planning, but this Mark didn’t, and frankly, putting people on location was the biggest episode of carelessness she could fathom. 

Suddenly, her phone buzzed in her ear. A text message from Doug. Ignoring it for the time being, she focused back in, just in time to hear the interviewer address another question, “Taylor, how do you feel about this project now, in a general sense?”

“I’ve already answered this question several times. I’m glad that Mr. Gregorio has extra security on hand, but I don’t wish to comment any further on my personal feelings.”

She could tell that the interviewer was getting frustrated with her, and she decided to end the segment. Taylor barely registered the rest of the piece and hung up after the perfunctory goodbyes.

Looking down at her phone, she swiped to the messages icon and read over the text. Taking a moment, she read it again and then clicked on Doug’s name to call him.

“What the hell?” 

He must have been anticipating her call because he was just as unsure as she was, “That’s what he told me.”

“I thought his whole big yank was that none of us should go back there!”

“Apparently, now that someone has died, all bets are off.”

“But they’re saying it was an accident.” Taylor brushed her hair back from her face.

Doug coughed, “Do you really believe that?”

“Right now, we don’t have any reason not to.”

“Doc’s just trying to head him off at the pass if it is – him.” 

Taylor had noticed that Doug sometimes stumbled over Leslie’s name. 

“Well, Mark should be real happy then. He’ll have someone on set that he can bother.”

“Doc’s not that kind of guy.” Doug murmured.

She wasn’t surprised really, part of her had always known that if anything happened, Halloran wouldn’t simply stay put. Truth be told, Taylor had thought he might have been chomping at the bit to get back out there, to take on Leslie again. He didn’t want them to go, for the same reason she had her own reservations. That she and Doug were little more than live bait.

They ended their awkward conversation and Taylor went back to her daily routine. That was it. Doc would investigate and… As she milled about the house that day, she noticed that she kept throwing glances over at her phone. This was all new to her. Would Halloran call her to take her place as the Survivor girl once again or would he try to take on Leslie by himself? He already knew he didn’t stand a chance on his own.

Hours later, her stomach still in knots, she sat at her kitchen counter, picking at her food and scrolling through her work assignments for next Monday. Eating when she was upset was never her strong suit.

When her phone began to ring, she pressed the green button and brought it to her ear, “Hello?”

“Hi.” The voice was gravelly. 

“Doc?”

“Have you checked your email?”

Great. She sighed, it must be someone new from work, upset that she hadn’t returned some request for information, even during the weekend. Bringing up the Outlook, she scanned it.

“Alright, when did you send it?”

“Just now.” 

“I don’t have any new emails.”

“Check your personal email.”

“Who gave you my personal email? I told everyone to contact me on the company email only.”

The person didn’t answer. Redirecting herself to her Gmail, she noticed a new email at the top. She didn’t recognize the name, and the subject line was just as descriptive, “Something You’ll Want to See.”

“If this is a virus, you’re going to get fired.” Truthfully, she wouldn’t have opened it if she didn’t have the guy on the phone.

“Now that would be something.” The voice laughed at her. 

Taylor stopped, she didn’t open the email, “Alright, who is this?”

The person on the other end didn’t respond, they only kept laughing. Taylor sneered, this had happened to her before. Sickos on the internet had gotten ahold of the crime scene photos. They liked to send them to her from various accounts, tormenting her from time to time. Exacting their own brand of perverted justice for her perceived wrongs.

“I’m not opening your email and I’m not playing your game.” She hung up the phone and deleted it. 

She was kicking herself, she usually didn’t fall for these things so easily. She’d let her guard down since the attacks had died down in the past year or so. If her new personal email was being traded around the reddit forums again though, she’d have to change it. Thankfully, no one had yet to hack her work email.

The phone lit up and she jumped a bit. This time though, the caller ID said it was Doug.

“Damnit.” She picked up, “What’s up?”

“Did you open that email?” His voice was low and shaking.

“No, I told you, just ignore them.”

“I got a call from this guy, he sounded like someone I knew.”

“Did you get a computer virus? I can put you in touch with this company, they’ll help you clean everything up.” Taylor began typing their information in on her browser. Doug hadn’t endured a tenth of what she had, it was no wonder he had fallen for that trick.

“Taylor, it’s not a prank.”

“Hmm?” She paused, “What was it?”

“Open it. I want to make sure that you got the same thing.” Again, he seemed to be shaking. She hadn’t heard him like that since the night they were both in the farmhouse bedroom, upstairs with a bunch of scared teenagers and a rattling door.

Quickly fishing the email back from her trash, she opened it. 

Her breath caught in her throat, and she had to swallow before she could speak again, “Could it be photoshopped?”

“I don’t think so. If it is, it’s really good.”

“But, they could have just changed the dates, and they could have gotten that picture online.”

“When would he have taken a picture like that?” 

Taylor had to concede that Doug was right. 

There was nothing in the email except one picture. It was a man, still wearing the last set of clothes she’d seen him in. He was sitting in a chair, hands bound behind his back, his mouth gagged with some sort of rag. The Glen Echo newspaper was sitting on his chest, the date – today’s date – clearly displayed. Though he was slightly slumped over, it was no mistaking who it was sitting there.

“Taylor?” Doug’s voice, still in shock, came through the receiver.

She quickly clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle a sob, but even through her fingers, he could still hear her. 

“Todd’s alive?”


End file.
